


'Cause I Like You, But That's Not Enough

by grandfatherclock



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, PWP, Possibly Unrequited Love, reference to ambiguous widojest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:28:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22229440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grandfatherclock/pseuds/grandfatherclock
Summary: Here is what Essik Theylas dreams about.
Relationships: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 8
Kudos: 138





	'Cause I Like You, But That's Not Enough

**Author's Note:**

> Content warnings for reference to Caleb having a crush on Jester, a reference to the torture/abuse Caleb went through as a child, and an ambiguous ending to this fic in terms of who ends up with who.
> 
> Title from Would You Be So Kind? by Dodie.

Essik sighs deeply, the muscles of his back start to relax as he feels the sensation of the warm, soapy water against his skin. His arms rest on the border of the tub, dark purple stark against pearly white, and he watches the smoothness for a moment, unblemished and unscathed and perfect. It's something he deeply prides in himself, after all—the smooth expanse of his skin, the composed smile he perfected in his first century as he convinced the leader of his den to give him just one chance, _I_ _won't let you down, Denmother…_

Untouched by war. He closes his eyes, lowering his head until it's bracing against the edge of the tub. The water rises up to gently stroke the back of his neck, even as he knows that's absurd, even though he knows it's him that's moving, falling. Him surrendering to gravity, not water breaking it.

_Untouched, period_ , he thinks, and he's… surprised by how bitter he sounds in the solace of his own head where he doesn't have to moderate his tone. It's been a while since someone has allowed someone to have him, since he allowed himself to have another, and he feels antsy. Feels a buzz under his skin, like arcane glyphs sparking along his outstretched arms as he casts, crackling around the pearl that stands in as his arcane focus as he grits his teeth and focuses his attention.

He could call Nym.

Essik scoffs, blinking open his eyes to gaze at the arcane lanterns lit up over him, washing him and his bath in colours of oranges and yellows, soft like he's told the beams of the sun are, to most creatures. Jester was chattering quick and fast, eyes bright on his face, and she mentioned, colour rising to her cheeks, that Caleb's hair looked like glowing fire when the sun was bright. He had no idea how that conversation led into that, but then, jaw tense, it was the only thing he could imagine that day.

Caleb, with the fire hair.

He could swallow his pride, and cast _Sending_. Nym still knows where to find his home. He feels his traitorous hand raise from where it was resting, and very nearly does it, very nearly traces the glyphs to end his torment, but then stills as he feels arcane energy rake over his skin, glinting against violet. He knows it blooms into bruising black marks if touched, if someone would bother to mark, if he allowed someone in, allowed someone _here_.

Essik lowers his hand, and then, does not bring it to rest against the boundary of his tub. He lowers it further down, further lower, until he feels his own soft touch against the inside of his thigh, until he feels the tease of his fingers against his cock.

He closes his eyes once more.

* * *

Here is what Essik Theylas dreams about.

Firstly, that Caleb is in the tub with him. Despite how his thoughts danced to Nym time and time again, it was not his ex-boyfriend whose soft lips he was craving, and it was not grey eyes he imagined watching him, watching the flush on his face. The eyes were a pale blue, refracting light knowingly and beautifully, a gaze so confident it was prophetic. He imagines Caleb naked, pale skin lovely and translucent, revealing itself as Caleb comes closer to where Essik himself rests, a graceful smile playing on pink lips.

Caleb's skin isn't smooth like his. It's scarred. Dozens of healed wounds manifest themselves in marks that coalesce around his shoulders and his sides the way some people's skin concentrates in freckles, and further disturbing are the neat puncture wounds on his arms, surgical and neat and sickening.

But Caleb's skin is glorious, regardless.

Essik likes how easily it bruises, he saw evidence when Jester once grabbed his arm during a lesson and Nott gave Jester a teasing admonishment of how _squishy Lebby is, don't break him!_ Sure enough, Caleb was rubbing the darkened skin with a good-natured smile, eyes soft as he gazed at the two of them retorting to each other. Essik sat by the side and watched, feeling himself get sick with jealousy.

In this dream, there is no Nott and there is no Jester. No Fjord either, and none of that firbolg who delights in interrupting Essik's attempts to get to know the hidden details of Caleb when Jester happens to busy. None of them. It's just Caleb, and just Essik— _just Essik_ , and god, he sounds so bitter in his own head, he doesn't know when that even started—and they are kissing, Caleb's hands rising to intertwine through Essik's wet hair. He comes further closer, until he's practically straddling Essik's lap, and Essik raises a hand to rest on the small of his back.

Too wary even in a dream to rest it on his ass. Essik resists the urge to snort. Luxon damn him.

Caleb sighs and pulls back, eliciting a small noise of disappointment from Essik he would have been entirely too embarrassed to make in real life. Caleb winks at him after watching his face for a good long moment, and Essik lets out a shuddering moan as Caleb presses his face into the crevice of his neck, breathing in his scent. "You smell like flowers," he says, and his eyebrows furrow, like he's really trying to remember in this fantasized indulgent dream version of himself the scent of Essik's hair. "But you don't normally… normally you smell of a type of incense I've only ever found in Rosohna."

Ah. _Ah._ Essik's throat feels dry. This is what he has resorted to. The thought of Caleb knowing him well enough to know when he hasn't worked with meadow-weed one particular day is… a pipe dream. A pathetic fantasy.

It doesn't stop him from smiling, the burdens of the day slowly starting to feel like less of a drag on his shoulders as he gazes at Caleb. It doesn't stop his fingers from curling around his cock, a sigh breaking past his lips at the first stroke. "My soap," he explains, as he feels Caleb's breath against his ear, Caleb's teeth nipping at the shell of it. "Didn't get a—ah, didn't get a chance to visit my laboratory today." He's been going to his laboratories less and less, as the war has gotten busier and busier. The Bright Queen requested he put aside his more theoretical projects to look over designs Waccoh had built out, perhaps find a way to bolster them with their ancient magics. Waccoh made him promise not to get the dens she despised as co-sponsors on the designs.

War is good for business. Good for proving oneself. Good for disproving others.

Caleb hums under his breath, and in this dream, Essik imagines him lowering his hand, lower and lower as he trails teeth against skin, scraping against smooth purple until his neck is dancing with deep and dark little bruises. He strokes himself the way he imagines Caleb stroking him, squeezing at the base before dragging the pads of his fingers up, and fuck, he hears himself sigh out Caleb's name as he starts to pump his cock in earnest. Other sounds fill the silence along with his sighs, and Essik shifts his jaw, imagining fiery hair falling down his neck, momentarily satiated by the water splattering the colour against his head. "Good boy," Caleb says, and he bites into Essik's neck, right at the pulse, before licking it with his tongue, worrying the hickey.

"Caleb," Essik manages out. His pace—Essik imagining his pace—is _relentless_. His pale blue eyes are knowing, and his other hand is reaching for his own cock under the water, working them both as his nose trails Essik’s skin, inhaling the scent of the soap. “ _Caleb_.” He repeats it rather dumbly, the syllables inelegant past his parted lips, past the _ah-ah-ah_ s that slowly stutter out as he shifts his hips, gently pushing into the pressure. Caleb’s fingers trail on the underside of his cock, and Essik whines, tilting his head out further for Caleb to bite into him, ruin him, make a mess of him, _make a mess of me_ , he challenges Caleb, fingers reaching out to dig into his shoulders. The white skin bruises delectably under his touch. _Make a mess of me, Widogast._

Caleb grins, and then his lips are on Essik’s once more, catching words into his mouth as Essik moans against him. Their tongues dance around each other, Caleb searching his mouth and running his own tongue against his teeth. He squeezes Essik’s cock tightly, intent on finishing the job, and Essik is blinking, before closing his eyes and feeling his shoulders slump in blissful surrender. A shock of pleasure washes over him. 

“Caleb,” he repeats, trying to hold onto the feeling of Caleb stroking him through his orgasm, lips on the shell of his ear.

The vision fades out, despite his most ardent of attempts to hold onto it.

* * *

Essik slowly opens his eyes, feeling that tell-tale sign of Jester taking a deep breath. He readies himself for the whirlwind that is her _Sending_ , she tests his perfect smile in court more than any other opportunistic little politician out trying to intertwine him in their schemes. It is… truly something, being asked as you stand by the most important person in the Dynasty whether you are _pooping_. She’s this… clever and disarming force of a person, and it’s no wonder Caleb looks at her like… that.

Like he wants her.

_Oh, hi_ , Jester begins, and Essik listens, trying not to hope for details on red hair framing a pale face and a soft Zemnian accent that lilts over every word like a comfortable shroud. Trying not to think about his skin, untouched.

He doesn’t wholly succeed.


End file.
